The Morning Ride
by TrustTheCloak
Summary: Barric glanced up from his work as he heard the shouts of the sentries and the clatter of horse's hooves on the bricks. Moving briskly to the stable door, the man's brow furrowed as he caught sight of a familiar horse with the Caraway castle insignia on the saddle blanket. The lathered chestnut animal galloped into the stable yard, skidding on the stones. "Bentley?"
1. Chapter 1

**Just a plot bunny that was yapping to be let out of the cage. It's set when Gilan is still in the Battleschool, about a year before he is apprenticed to Halt, so Gilan is about thirteen. It was originally going to be a one shot, but it just wasn't flowing. The chapters are now shorter, but it's flowing a bit better, which is what I would prefer.**

* * *

Gilan carefully padded down the corridor. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, the golden rays beginning to stream through the castle windows. The tall boy was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, and a pair soft, lace up leather boots. He also had a dark blue cloak fastened around his shoulders - the morning, though sunny, still had a certain chill to it.

Exiting the large gray castle, Gilan picked up a jog to the stables. Taking in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, Gilan smiled to himself. It was a Saturday, and he had the whole day to himself, much to his satisfaction. The previous week had been a particularly long one. Entering the doorway, the boy called cheerfully, "Hello, Barric!"

The stableman turned as his name was called. "Gilan!" Barric replied with a grin. "What brings you this morning?" Barric was fond of Sir David's son. The boy was cheerful, polite, and an excellent rider. As he was also in charge of the horses well-being, Barric approved of the boy's light seat and gentle hands. Not to mention that Gilan, whenever he could escape the clutches of his rigorous Battleschool, was more then willing to help with stable chores.

"It's Saturday!" Gilan almost sang. "No long, boring classes!"

Barric gave a crooked smile, then gestured down the barn aisle. "I assume you'll be going for a ride, then?"

Gilan nodded enthusiastically. "If you have a horse for me."

"We'll always have a horse for you." Barric assured him. The man thought a moment, then continued, "Bentley could use a gallop."

Gilan smiled and nodded again. The named horse was one of his favorites. Bentley was a flashy animal, with a wide blaze covering his face and stockings on all four legs, sharply contrasting against his chestnut body. He was fast and high spirited, and leaner then the average battlehorse; however, he was also young and slightly skittish. Gilan quickly groomed and saddled, then led the horse from his stall. Before he mounted, however, Barric took hold of the reins and spoke to him.

"Be careful. There's been a mountain lion spotted in the area. Mind yourself in the trees." The stableman's forehead was creased in concern. Gilan gave a reassuring smile.

"I will. Don't worry yourself, Barric."

Barric nodded, though his expression was still troubled. Gilan gave the stable master another quick look of reassurance before mounting. Turning the big chestnut out of the courtyard, he picked up an easy trot towards the woods. Barric raised a hand in farewell, then muttered under his breath, "Oh, I'll worry myself, alright." Barric watched the boy and horse disappear from view before turning back to the stable.

* * *

Gilan sighed contently as he moved with Bentley's trot. It was nice to be riding a horse for the pure joy of it, rather then practicing cavalry tactics. The tall boy urged Bentley into a faster gait. The horse tossed his head excitedly before stretching his long white legs into a ground covering gallop. Gilan stood in the stirrups, grabbed the thick mane, and laughed merrily. "Good boy!" Gilan called out breathlessly, barely audible above the wind.

Bentley responded with a burst of speed, straining at the bit. His ears perked, his eyes bright, the horse flew over the ground, his legs seeming to barely touch the ground. Gilan allowed the horse to run for several minutes, then began applying pressure on the bit, asking for a slower pace. Bentley threw his head and danced sideways before settling into an energetic trot. "Good boy," Gilan murmured, stroking the glossy, sweated neck. Gilan had been trained too well to allow a horse to run for too long, no matter how much the horse seemed to want it.

The boy coaxed the prancing gelding to a walk. "Let's see if we can't find that stream," a heavily breathing Gilan told the heavily breathing horse. "You've earned it."

Suddenly, Bentley stopped in his tracks. Jerking his head high, his ears perked and swiveling, the horse flared his nostrils. The large chestnut body trembled. Gilan glanced nervously around him, winding his fingers through Bentley's mane as he searched for whatever had caused his horse to spook. He had learned from a young age to trust his mount's instincts. Their senses were much more finely tuned then his own. "Bentley. Steady. Whoa!" Gilan called as the horse nervously jolted to the side. "It's alrig-"

Before he had finished the word, a large impact knocked Gilan from the saddle like a rag doll.

* * *

"Whoa! Whoa, boy!"

Barric glanced up from his work as he heard the shouts of the sentries and the clatter of horse's hooves on the bricks. Moving briskly to the stable door, the man's brow furrowed as he caught sight of a familiar horse with the Caraway castle insignia on the saddle blanket. The lathered chestnut animal galloped into the stable yard, skidding on the stones. "Bentley?" Barric said, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he took in the empty saddle and broken reins. Picking up a dragging rein, the brunette stable master, his voice tight with alarm, called to a nearby sentry.

"Rowan? Please go inform Sir David that his son's horse has come back riderless."

* * *

 **Uh oh, Gilan. Next time you should listen to Barric.**

 **Sorry for the lack of stories/updates. School is finishing up, and my horse show season starting, which means more time is needed at the barn. Bear with me! :)**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	2. Chapter 2

Gilan gasped as he hit the ground, the impact completely knocking the wind out of him. His throat was burning with pain from where some heavy, unknown force had jerked him down by his cloak. Struggling for air, the boy tried to comprehend what had happened. In his frenzied, panicked mind, one thought came through with shocking clarity. _Barric said there was a mountain lion._ Spurred on by the thought, along with some adrenaline, the tall boy scrambled to his feet, teetering slightly, and found himself facing what he had been dreading; a huge tawny beast was spitting out a mouthful of Gilan's blue cloak.

Gilan froze, staring into the large amber eyes. Desperately, he wracked his brain for something, anything that his father had taught him about facing wild animals. _Play dead? No, no, that's with bears. Run away?_ Gilan, if the circumstances were different, could have laughed at his stupidity. Running would almost certainly arouse the cat's instinct to chase, and then he would really be dead. _Rush him! Rush him, Gil, it's your only chance!_ Gilan hesitated for a split second, then plunged forward, waving his arms, his shredded cloak flapping, and forced a scream through his protesting throat.

"BAD CAT! GET OUT OF HERE! BAD CAT!"

The lion shrank back from the boy. Gilan continued on his plight forward, fighting the almost overwhelming instinct to turn and run. "GO! GO AWAY!"

The beast gave a small snarl, then turned and slinked into the woods. Gilan yelled a few more times for good measure, then lowered his trembling body to the ground as his knees buckled. Tears trickled down the boy's cheeks, despite his valiant efforts to hold them back. He had had the scare of his life. Before this, the worst things that had happened to him was a fever his father didn't like talking about and the occasional Battleschool squabbles. The Battleschool clashes had taught him never to cry. _  
_

At the thought, Gilan made a gravelly sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Not acting very brave." He murmured to himself.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Gilan forced his weak legs to stand. He had to get moving. Bentley would be running back to the castle, no doubt causing anxiety in the stable hands, and more importantly, his father. A search party would almost certainly be out soon, trying to find him. Truly, sinking back to the ground and waiting sounded very appealing. A second later, Gilan shook his head angrily. "Up, Gilan." He murmured thickly. Sitting around in his numb, shocked state would make him easy prey for any return attacks from the cat or any other predators. His sore, stiffening muscles protesting violently, Gilan began his slow, painful trek back to Castle Caraway.

* * *

"How are things at Redmont?" Sir David asked his friend as he leaned comfortably back in his armchair, nursing a cup of coffee. Tall and clean shaven, with light brown hair and kind grey eyes, David had a pleasant nature and an easy smile.

Halt shrugged, comfortable in his own armchair with a coffee, generously lace with honey. "Well enough. No really noticeable change in temperature yet, though, Redmont usually has fairly mild winters."

David nodded, wistfully glancing out the window. "Wish I could say the same for Caraway. Being as far north as we are, winters tend to be pretty harsh."

Their thoughts were interrupted by a rather frantic pounding on the door. David, raising his eyebrow curiously, called out, "Come in."

The door opened to admit a rather nervous looking young man. "Rowan," David greeted him, recognizing the black haired young man. "What's wrong?"

Rowan shifted his weight uncomfortably, hating what he had to say next. "You're-You're son." He said, gnawing on his lip. "Gilan's horse just barely came back... Riderless. The horse was lathered and frightened, sir."

David's usual smile deserted him, replaced by an expression of anxiety. "Gilan? My Gilan?" David stood hurriedly, his worry clearly visible in his tense stance. "When did the horse come back? Was it injured?"

"Not long ago at all - Barric sent me as soon as he recognized the horse - the young chestnut, Bentley. The horse had a scrape on his hindquarters... I didn't get a good look, but it looked like claw marks, sir."

David swallowed nervously. "Thank you, Rowan. Now, I need to go find my son."

Rowan nodded, taking the words as his dismissal. "Good luck, sir." The sentry then turned and exited through the door he had entered in. David waited until he had left before moving toward the hook where his cloak hung.

"I'm sorry about all this, Halt... I know you don't get to come up as often anymore... But, Gilan... You understand?"

David wasn't flustered easily - Halt had been his friend long enough to know that. But his tense stance and jerky speech made Halt realize that his friend was near frantic, his calm exterior maintained only be immense willpower. "Of course. I'll go with you." Halt said calmly, standing as well to fasten his cloak. "We'll leave immediately."

* * *

"I just don't understand it, Halt." David said irritably as they moved swiftly to the stables.

"Perhaps the horse threw him." Halt offered. "The sentry said that the horse was young - maybe he spooked. Gilan could be almost home."

David considered it. "It's a possibility, but Gilan's too good a horseman to just fall off. And Bentley may be young, but Gilan's worked with him for years - he helped with the birth, the training. He's only been riding him for the past year, but they know each other from the inside out. I would trust Bentley with Gilan more then I would trust some of the older horses."

As they had been talking, they entered the barn, and as soon as David had finished his statement Halt had ducked into Abelard's temporary stall to buckle his saddle on. David had walked down the aisle slightly further to Archie's stall. Archie was a massively built grey, with a lighter mane and tail and kind brown eyes. David gave him a quick pat before lifting his saddle onto the broad back and slipping the bridle in. Barric, the stable master, approached him, the brush that he had been currying Bentley's coat with still in his hand.

"Sir?" He said in his gentle, soft spoken way. "In case you were needing any of this information, Gilan left shortly after dawn this morning. Bentley came back about an hour and a half later. Sir, there have been mountain lion sightings in the woods..." The man trailed off, troubled.

David squeezed Barric's shoulder. "Thanks, Bar'. I'll find him; never fear." Leading Archie out into the courtyard sunlight, where Halt was waiting, David mounted and turned Archie towards the woods. Barric watched them go, heaved a sigh, then turned back to continue his care of Bentley.

"Find him, David." The stablemaster whispered.

* * *

 **So, I really have no excuses besides writers block. I've made a goal to publish/update a story a week, so hopefully the wait won't be nearly as long this time; I plan to get the last chapter up next week.**

 **Once again, I'm sorry about the wait!**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


	3. Chapter 3

**It's here! The final chapter is here! After many months of writers block, this story is complete!**

 **On a completely unrelated note, _The Tournament at Gorlan_ was brilliant. As I was reading, X Ambassadors song "Renegades" kept playing in my head after Halt said something like, "Renegade Rangers. It appeals to my natural rebellion to authority." So, yeah, if you haven't gotten the book yet, get it. (Also, in the book Abelard is a dapple grey. In all my stories, he has been dark brown. I might keep him that way, because in my head he is very firmly a dark brown - he always has been. So, we'll see.)**

* * *

Gilan had no idea how long he had been walking. A small, logical part of his mind told him it couldn't have been that long, but the larger, shocked, muddled part insisted that he had been going for ages. The thought of resting was tempting, but each time the idea nearly overwhelmed him, some hidden reserve of energy came into play.

Someone would be looking for him by now - hopefully, Gilan thought mock dramatically to himself, because he was tired and bored and drama created variables that were entertaining. The boy had played with the idea of shouting in an attempt to contact any search parties, but if talking was painful, yelling seemed out of the question. Instead, Gilan settled into a pattern - left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, keeping his eyes firmly riveted on a tree straight ahead, then when he reached that tree, choosing another one. It was tedious, admittedly, but efficient.

"Gilan!"

Gilan lurched to a stop. Someone had called his name. The voice was faint, but definitely there. "Gilan!"

Giving a slight groan, the lanky boy stumbled into a run in the direction of the voice that he knew belonged to his father. "Dad!" He croaked as loudly as his throat would allow him. "Dad!"

* * *

"Dad!"

A relieved exhale escaped David's lips. "That's Gilan!" He called to Halt, some eight meters to his right and following Bentley's tracks from earlier. Without waiting for an answer, he urged Archie into a canter. "Gilly!" He called again, using his son's pet name. Halt raised an eyebrow at the nickname.

"Gilly?" He muttered to himself. "Why Gilly?" The Ranger then shrugged. If that was what David had decided long ago to call his son, he wouldn't call him out on it now, no matter what he thought of the choice of title; he would wait till later. Giving an almost invisible cue to Abelard, he moved to catch up with David.

"Gilly! I'm coming, son!" David called out again, urging Archie into a slightly faster pace. Gilan's young voice answered once again, closer this time, then seconds later, the tall boy emerged from a thick cluster of trees.

The lad definitely looked worse for the wear, Halt thought as he took in Gilan's appearance. The lanky boy was pale and moving stiffly. The dark blonde hair was unevenly smeared with dirt, and the dark blue cloak around his shoulders was in ribbons, the fabric shifting lazily in the breeze. But the worst part, the Ranger decided, was the dark, ugly bruises littering Gilan's neck.

Gilan had begun a faltering run in an attempt to reach them faster. A moment later, he tripped, landing face down on the grass. David, who had dismounted, quickly strode to his son, quickly scooping him off the ground and holding him tight in a mollified way. Oddly enough, Gilan was giggling.

"I think I broke the bootlace." The boy laughed, his voice slightly high pitched then normal.

"I think you're hysterical." David answered concernedly, feeling Gilan's pale, thin hand with his own well muscled one. The skin was cool and clammy. Frowning, the Battlemaster moved his hand to finger the shredded blue cloak. "Your cloak is completely tattered... Like someone took a knife and slashed it, over and over. Not to mention your neck is black and blue with bruises."

Gilan gave another high pitched giggle. "I guess that's what happens when a mountain lion hauls you off your horse."

David nodded slowly, his suspicions confirmed, and hugged his son slightly tighter. The thought of what could have happened made him shudder. Though he maintained a stoic, Battlemaster attitude, he had a tender spot for his wife and son. "Let's go home."

Gilan nodded wearily, his energy suddenly spent, and pressed his head into his father's shoulder. Easily, David stood, seemingly unburdened by Gilan's weight. Moving to Archie, he carefully balanced his son in the front of the saddle, then mounted behind him. "Ready, Halt?" The Battlemaster asked mildly to his friend, who had been watching from Abelard's back. Halt nodded, and together, the two mismatched horses picked up a steady jog.

* * *

"I don't know why I'm so sore." Gilan moaned tiredly from his bed, his voice still hoarse. The moment they had arrived back at the castle, David had carried Gilan to his room, and despite the boy's protests that he was fine, really, David had summoned a healer to examine him. Remarkably, there was no broken skin; just bruises and an aching throat from the cat's initial pull and the fall to the ground. The healer had given his several pain killing herbs, however, for the severe soreness. "Bentley's alright?"

David laughed exasperatedly. "Good gracious, Gilan. You've just been hit and pulled down by your neck by a hundred fifty pound animal from the height of a tall horse. Of course you're sore. And yes, Bentley is spooked, but Barric will take care of him. He'll be no worse for the wear."

"Barric is one of the best." A few moments of silence passed before Gilan spoke again. "Stupid cat," he said drowsily; the pain-killing herbs were also intended to soporific. "He ruined my favorite cloak."

David laughed at his son's words. Leave it to Gilan to be irritated about something as trivial as a cloak at a time like this, the Battlemaster thought fondly. "Go to sleep, Gilly." The boy obliged, gratefully allowing his blue eyes to slide shut. Getting up, David pressed a quick kiss on his son's dark blonde mop before exiting the room. Halt was waiting outside the door.

"How is he?" The Ranger asked in his soft, Hibernian tinted voice. David smiled.

"Gilan's fine. He'll be sorer than anything tomorrow, but he'll get over it." The Battlemaster chuckled. "He was annoyed that his cloak was ruined."

Halt allowed himself a rare smile. "It was a nice cloak, I suppose."

"Coffee?" David asked in a light tone, though he already knew the answer. The Ranger quickly nodded assent.

"Of course."

As the two friends moved down the aisle toward David's quarters, Halt couldn't help asking, "So... Gilly. Why?"

* * *

 **So that's the end. It's not my best, but it's something. Thanks for everyone who has stuck with this story. :)**

 **-TrustTheCloak**


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